Liberation
by paperstorm
Summary: Part of my Deleted Scenes series. The tag for 'Folsom Prison Blues', 2x19. Wincest.


**Contains dialogue from the episode 'Folsom Prison Blues', it belongs to Eric Kripke and John Shiban.  
**

**Part of my Deleted Scenes series. Full list of fics in reading order available on my profile page. They will make more sense if read in order. :)**

* * *

"I'm Sam," Sam says to the guy helping him clean the bathrooms.

"Randall," he answers.

"Nice to meet you. Randall," Sam repeats, and then something occurs to him. "Hey, weren't you there the night that guard died?"

Randall looks up. "Yeah."

"Well, what happened?"

"They say the stress of the job got him."

"Yeah? What d'you say?"

Randall considers him, but then just says, "Why're you inside, kid?"

Sam sighs. "'Cause I got an idiot for a brother."

"That'll do it."

"Yeah."

"Ah, this place ain't so bad," Randall concedes. "Compared to the old cellblock, it's the damn Hilton."

Sam turns around quickly. "You spent time in the old block?"

"Oh yeah, I was a regular customer."

"Didn't they have Mark Moody over there for a while?" Sam asks, pretending to be really interested so Randall will keep talking.

"He was there. Y'know, I was there too, the night that lunatic bought it."

"Yeah? It was a heart attack, right?"

Randall shrugs. "Sure, his heart stopped, right after the guards stopped using his head for batting practice. Next morning I was in his cell moppin' up the blood, what a mess."

Sam frowns. "Wait, so he – he was beaten and nobody reported it?"

"You kept your mouth shut, unless you wanted to die from the same heart attack, you know?"

"Randall, exactly how much blood was there?" Sam asks slowly.

"Enough that it took me all freakin' morning to get that place clean. Guard kept having to bring me a new bucket."

"Did you use, um, like bleach or whatever? Something to make sure you got it all?"

Randall's eyes narrow a little. "No. Just soap and water. Why're you askin' all these questions, anyway?"

Sam's brain flips back into it's default hunter-mode, trying to think of a quick lie that would explain everything away so Randall doesn't repeat anything about this conversation to anyone else, but then he doesn't need to because they're interrupted.

"Heya Sammy," Dean's quiet, lilting voice rings out from somewhere near the door. Sam turns around to find his brother leaning casually against the doorjamb, his arms crossed and a funny smirk on his face. "Makin' friends in the can?"

"This your brother?" Randall asks.

"Unfortunately," Sam grumbles.

Randall nods. "Well, it was nice to meet you Sam. Hope you don't have to spend too long in this place, end up gettin' stuck in here like the rest of us. I'll let you guys catch up."

Sam thanks him for his help and he leaves, brushing passed Dean on his way out, and Sam just glares at the shit-eating grin on Dean's face.

"People always like you. I never get why."

"I could kick your ass into tomorrow, you know that?" Sam seethes. "What the hell is wrong with you, startin' shit with that guy yesterday? I mean for fuck's sake, we are in _prison_! Do you get that? We may be big fish up against your average scumbag but there are probably fifty guys in here who could put us in the ground without even breaking a sweat, and you got yourself thrown in solitary on the first day! How the hell are you supposed to watch my back if you're locked up?"

"This about that roommate of yours again?" Dean smirks again, stepping fully into the room and closing the door behind him. He moves in closer to Sam and pokes him playfully in the ribs. "Don't worry Sammy, I promise nobody gets that ass but me."

"Fuck you, that's not what I'm talking about," Sam grumbles, shoving Dean away. "I'm not afraid he's gonna make me his bitch, I'm afraid he's gonna stab me to death with a shiv made out of plastic forks! This is the most dangerous plan we've ever come up with, one little thing goes wrong and we could be stuck in here for the rest of our lives! The only way this is gonna work is if we look out for each other!"

Dean rolls his eyes a little, but then he says, "Alright, fine, I'm sorry, okay? I didn't like the way he was lookin' at you. No one pushes my little brother around but me."

"You – " Sam sighs, and this time when Dean moves back in and puts his hands on Sam's waist, Sam lets him. "Look, I appreciate you standing up for me, but there's a time and a place, okay? We got a job to work, here, and we only got a couple days to do it."

"Okay." Dean leans in a little closer and runs the tip of his nose under Sam's jaw.

"What're you doin'?" Sam asks.

"It is just plain stupid that you can manage to make even this hideous orange jumpsuit look hotter than hell," Dean answers softly, his voice slipping into that exaggerated purr that Sam finds completely annoying but still manages to drive him crazy.

"Dean, c'mon," he mumbles, draping his arms over Dean's shoulders even as his mind tells him not to. "We're in the middle of a men's room in a state penitentiary, if somebody finds us they'll skin us alive."

"We'll have to be quick, then."

Dean nudges him not-quite-gently, walking Sam backwards into one of the stalls and closing the door behind them. He pushes Sam up against the wall, kissing him quick and rough and dirty and Sam's almost instantly dizzy with it.

"You really wanna do this in a place where big dudes take dumps?" Sam asks, mostly ignoring his own words and sliding his hands down to cup Dean's hips.

Dean nips at his bottom lip and crowds in a little closer, pressing his body along Sam's. His thigh pushing up against Sam's quickly filling cock feels better than Sam wishes it did. "Well I'd _like_ to do this in a king-sized bed covered in rose petals in a suite at the Plaza, but that's a little out of our price range. And douchebag range."

"And a prison shitter is the next best thing?" Sam laughs, stuttering a little over the words when Dean leans down and licks at his neck. "And wait, rose petals? Really?"

Dean looks up at him and shrugs. "What, I can't be romantic every once and a while? Or at least think about considering it?"

Sam grins. "Says the guy who wants to fuck a foot away from a toilet."

Dean chuckles, and kisses Sam's neck again. "No time for fucking. Someone might catch us, remember?"

His fingers scramble at the buttons on Sam's jumpsuit, ripping them open as he nips and sucks at the tendons in Sam's neck and Sam doesn't know whether to still be pissed at him or to give in to the sensations of Dean's teeth and tongue on his skin, Dean's warm, solid body against his own. It doesn't take long, though, for his mind to go fuzzy and his skin to feel tight and too-hot and his body to respond to Dean's like it always does. Sam lets Dean push the jumpsuit down his arms and all the way to the floor, and then he grabs Dean's face and kisses him hard. He swirls his tongue around Dean's, fighting him for control for just a moment and then relinquishing it and letting Dean push him roughly back against the wall and attack his mouth. It's quick and bruising and Sam tastes blood but he loves it. Loves how quickly Dean can wind him up, loves that all it takes is a few sweeps of Dean's tongue for Sam to be as crazy for it as if they'd been going for hours already.

Sam hopes that never changes. He hopes there isn't ever a day when Dean doesn't affect him like this; when he isn't sure that wherever he is, he's where he's supposed to be as long as he's with Dean. Even if that place is a bathroom in jail, and even if Sam's still pretty irritated about all that.

Dean's hands slide slowly up Sam's chest, digging his fingers into the muscle and then wrapping them around the back of Sam's neck, angling his head to the side more so he can kiss him even deeper. Sam's head spins with it, the heat and the taste of Dean's mouth and the way his tongue slides against Sam's. He wishes they had the time to draw this out, he wishes he could have Dean spread out for him and lick every inch of him until Dean was quivering and begging for it, but unfortunately Dean's right and they don't. Sam surges forward, taking the lead for a few minutes and trying to flip their positions around, but Dean digs his heels in and grabs Sam's biceps, pushing him back and slamming him against the thin metal divider.

"Uh uh, little brother," he whispers, his face just an inch away from Sam's, his voice sugary-sweet but his eyes hard and predatory. "I'm runnin' this show. You just get to stand there and enjoy it."

A shiver runs down Sam's spine that he tries _so_ hard not to let show, because he really doesn't want to give Dean the satisfaction, but Dean notices anyway. He grins, and he leans in and nips at Sam's bottom lip before kissing him again, rough and deep and all-consuming. He reaches down and cups Sam's erection through his state-issued boxers, squeezing gently and rubbing the heel of his palm up the shaft, and Sam's too turned on to be embarrassed about the noise that escapes from his throat. He reaches for Dean, but Dean grabs his hands and puts them up on the wall behind Sam's head.

"Leave 'em there," he commands, and Sam shivers again.

Dean pushes his hand into Sam's pants, curling his fingers loosely around Sam's dick and stroking maddeningly slowly, not nearly enough pressure or speed to be anything close to enough, but just the right amount to drive Sam slowly crazy.

"Dean," he breathes, and Dean chuckles softly.

"Wish I could fuck you," Dean murmurs, dragging his nose along Sam's collarbone as his hand teases along Sam's sensitive flesh. "Flip you around and pound into you right here. Make you come so hard just on me fuckin' into you. No lube or anything, just split you open on my cock."

"Shit." Sam lets his eyes flutter closed, bucking up into Dean's hand in search of more friction. They've never done it dry like that before, and Sam knows they never will because Dean would never risk hurting him, but the idea is hotter than Sam thought it would be. The thought of Dean just taking what he wanted like that has Sam's pulse racing and his skin tingling, even though Dean wouldn't ever do it. Maybe _because_ Dean wouldn't ever do it. "Me too. Soon as we get outta here. Closest motel."

"Hell yeah," Dean growls, finally tightening his grip on Sam's erection and giving it a couple good strokes that have Sam moaning deep in his throat. "Till we can't walk, either of us."

"Missed that," Sam says around a harsh exhale when Dean reaches his other hand down and cups Sam's balls in his palm. And he has missed it. Whenever they got a night off from a hunt, they used to get so lost in each other Sam stopped being able to tell which limbs were his own, until they were sticky and sated and satisfied, and then they'd fall asleep tangled up together just to wake up a couple hours later and do it all over again. Sam missed that like breathing while they were apart. He still doesn't completely understand why Dean broke them up, but he knows he doesn't care anymore. Nothing else matters, as long as he gets to have Dean like that again.

"Me too, Sammy," Dean answers, the tone of his voice surprising gentle, and then it's like he comes back to himself and remembers where they are and that they don't have much time, and he ups the ante and starts stripping Sam's cock quickly.

His hand is hot against Sam's skin, the pressure perfect on his aching erection, and Dean knows just the right ways to twist and squeeze and swipe his thumb over the head to have Sam panting and biting the inside of his lip until he tastes blood again. It's all so _good_, the pleasure so sweeping and intense, and Sam's aware that he shouldn't feel this way from just a hand-job in a dirty prison toilet-stall. The fact that he does just means it isn't the act itself, it's _Dean_ – Dean knowing him inside out, knowing what he likes, knowing the best way to have him skating along that razor's edge where he both wants to come and hopes he never does so the sensations never have to end.

Sam's arms are starting to twitch with the strain of holding them above his head, and Dean must notice because he brings his free hand up and strokes the backs of his knuckles along the underside of Sam's bicep – giving him permission to drop them – and Sam does. He wraps them around Dean's strong shoulders and holds on as Dean squeezes around him a few more times and then heat blooms all over his body and he explodes into Dean's waiting hand.

Dean presses kisses along his jaw and pets through his air while Sam takes a minute to catch his breath, and then he captures Dean's lips in another bruising kiss and walks forward until Dean's back crashes into the opposite wall hard enough to leave a dent in the cheap metal. He plunders Dean's tongue with his own, fumbling to undo the buttons on Dean's jumpsuit and pushing it down far enough to grab his hard cock and stroke it purposefully.

"Sam, _fuck_," Dean moans harshly, and Sam drops down to his knees and swallows Dean's cock down in one swift movement.

He sucks on it enthusiastically, with this crazy, indescribable buzzing underneath his skin that wouldn't let him stop even if he wanted to. Dean just does that to him. Dean groans and sighs and tugs roughly on handfuls of Sam's hair, and Sam laves his tongue along the veins underneath and sucks hard around the head and squeezes at Dean's balls until Dean falls apart too, shooting thick ropes of bittersweet come into Sam's mouth. Sam swallows everything and moans himself at the flavor and doesn't pull away from his brother until Dean has to physically push him off.

"Son of a _bitch_," Dean mutters, covering his face with his hands like the light in the room hurts his eyes.

Sam sits back on his heels and drags the back of his palm over the leftover come and spit slicking his lips. "That's my mother you're talking about," he jokes, and Dean groans again, although not quite as happily.

"Dude! Don't bring up Mom twenty seconds after you just sucked my fuckin' brain out through my cock," he complains, but he doesn't seem all that upset about it as he sinks down to his ass on the dirty floor and smiles unsteadily at Sam. "Remind me again why we don't do that like six times a day?"

"No good reason I can think of," Sam answers, returning Dean's smile and then crawling towards him on the floor and kissing him softly on the lips. Dean cups Sam's face in his hands and kisses him back. "Now c'mon, let's get outta here before someone finds us. I got something to tell you."

"Me too, actually." Dean kisses him one more time. "Meet me in the yard in twenty."

* * *

"Thought we were screwed before," Sam grumbles as they toss the shovels and flashlights into the trunk of the Impala.

"Yeah, I know. We gotta go deep this time."

"Deep, Dean?" Sam scoffs. "We should go to Yemen."

"Oh, I'm not sure I'm ready to go _that_ deep."

Dean gets into the Impala and Sam follows him. They ride in silence for a while, maybe twenty minutes or so, and Sam wants to be saying something but he doesn't know what. Once again, they're completely fucked. They already had the F.B.I. trailing them and now they're not only fugitives, they're escaped convicts. And that's just so, _so_ much worse. If Henriksen ever catches up with them again, Sam doesn't know if they'll be able to outsmart him a third time. And then they'll end up back in prison for good, and Sam's not sure he can think of anything worse.

"I really didn't like being in there," Sam says quietly.

"Yeah, I picked up on that." Dean glances over at him for a second. "You wanna tell me what that was about?"

Sam laughs humorless. "I really need to explain to you why I didn't like being in jail?"

Dean just looks at him again and frowns. "You didn't really think your cellmate was gonna hurt you, did you? 'Cause you know I'd'a killed him before I let that happen."

"Yeah, I know that," Sam replies smiling a little. "And no, it wasn't that. I just … I guess I don't like feeling … trapped."

"We were always gonna get out, Sammy."

"I know that too. It's just … when we were kids, that's the part I hated about hunting the most. That I didn't have any say in my own life, that I was … stuck in it. But then I felt like that at school sometimes too."

"You did?" Dean asks softly, and Sam nods.

"Not at first. At first it was great, 'cause I was choosing, y'know, where to live and what classes to take and everything. I was doing all this stuff because I wanted to, not because someone was telling me I had to. But then after a while, things just start piling up when you live in one place for a long time like that. Cable bills and midterms and papers due, and my friends and Jess, it was all … I don't know. Everybody was always expecting me to do something, to be someone I probably couldn't ever be. I thought it would be better, once I was on my own. But having all those commitments, having people counting on me, it made me feel stuck sometimes too."

Dean doesn't say anything, he just frowns deeper and nods, and Sam realizes he isn't making much sense and he feels bad about the worried look on his brother's face.

"I guess what I'm saying is that as much as I complain about our lifestyle, it's also really … freeing, to know I could just pack up and leave one day and never come back. Because then it's like … I'm with you 'cause I want to be, not 'cause I don't have any other options. I don't wanna end up somewhere like prison where I don't get to decide what happens to me. And I don't wanna be some lawyer or something either, just because I think it's what I _should_ do. I wanna be able to make my own choices, and … and I wanna be able to choose you."

"Oh." Dean looks so serious for a minute, and Sam isn't sure what to say. He knows that, as big a step as they took when they hashed everything out last week, Dean still has so many insecurities and Sam just wants to fix them all but he doesn't quite know how. But then Dean licks his lips and his expression changes into one that looks more like uncomfortable, and he says, "Can I, uh, say something to you without you makin' fun of me?"

Sam frowns. "Okay."

"I just … um." Dean looks away and sighs before he continues. "I wanted to say thank you."

"For what?"

"For giving me another chance." He looks over, his eyes still squinted like it's awkward, but there's truth shining in them too. "I'm not gonna mess up like that again, alright?"

Sam considers him, a funny feeling settling in his chest that makes it a little hard for him to breathe. "You might, though," he says gently. "I might too. But … what we have is stronger than our mistakes, you know? Long as we don't forget that, I think we'll be okay."

Dean nods. "Yeah."

They're both silent for another few minutes, and then Dean takes Sam by surprise by lifting his arm up and saying, "C'mere."

"Dean," Sam protests, but Dean rolls his eyes and nods his head in the direction of his outstretched arm.

Sam shifts over on the seat, getting close enough to his brother to rest his head on Dean's shoulder. Dean curls his arm around Sam, pulling him in a little more and kissing the top of his head, and Sam smiles when Dean mutters, "Don't have to be such a girl about it."


End file.
